On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings, And coral reefs lie bare, Where the cold sea maids rise to sun their streaming hair. Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl; Wrecked is the ship of pearl ! And every chambered cell, Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell, As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell, Before thee lies revealed, Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed! Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil; Still as the spiral grew, He left the past year's dwelling for the new, Stole with soft step its shining archway through, Built up its idle door, Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more. Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea, Cast from her lap forlorn! From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn! While on mine ear it rings, Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings: Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll! Leave thy low-vaulted past! Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, Till thou at length art free, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea! THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER FRANCIS SCOTT KEY During the second war with Great Britain the English sent an expedition to capture the city of Baltimore. To succeed they must first capture Fort McHenry, and the British fleet bombarded it. During the engagement a small party of Americans, Francis Key among the number, carrying a flag of truce, went out to the British fleet to secure the release of an American citizen who had been taken prisoner. They were detained over night that they might not be able to give information in regard to what they had seen. The bombardment went on into the night. Mr. Key listened to the sound of the guns, and watched the rockets and bursting bombs. Late at night the guns became silent. Mr. Key was on a vessel far to the rear of the fleet, and did not know whether the silence meant the capture of the fort or not. He awaited the morning light with great anxiety, and when the early dawn showed the stars and stripes still floating over Fort McHenry, he knew that the attack had failed. While still on the vessel he wrote the song that follows. SAY, can you see, by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the peril ous fight O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming! And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there. O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave On that shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses ? And where is that band who so vauntingly swore No refuge could save the hireling and slave From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave; O, thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand Between their loved homes and the war's desolation ! Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n-rescued land Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation. Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC JULIA WARD HOWE Julia Ward was born in New York, N. Y., in 1819. She belonged to a fashionable circle, but her marriage to Dr. Samuel Gridley Howe, of Boston, placed her in a new world. Dr. Howe had enlisted as a volunteer in the cause of Greek independence. He was president of a relief corps in the Polish uprising. He founded the first American institution for the instruction of the blind. He was one of the most active anti-slavery crusaders. This was the atmosphere into which the fashionable Miss Ward was transferred. She became the eager advocate of the oppressed. Her pen was always busy. The following poem was written at Washington during the Civil War. MINE eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord: He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword; His truth is marching on. I have seen him in the watch fires of a hundred circling camps; They have builded him an altar in the evening dews and damps; I can read his righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps; His day is marching on. I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows of steel; "As ye deal with my contemners, so my grace with you shall deal;" Let the hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel, Since God is marching on. He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat; He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment seat: Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer him! feet! Our God is marching on. Be jubilant, my In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me: As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, |